


Earning Human

by AnnaNocturnal



Series: Requests and Challenges [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cross-Posted on LiveJournal, Crying, Dehumanization, Enemas, Gen, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Kink, Pain, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Schmoop, Sexual Tension, Supernatural Kink Meme, Tails, Tears, WAFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:26:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3837040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaNocturnal/pseuds/AnnaNocturnal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam messes up in a pretty big way, a horrifying penalty is handed down: he is no longer allowed to live as a human. Instead, he must live as a dog, complete with tail, food bowl, and the degrading assignment of the backyard as his bathroom. Add to that leash laws, hose-downs in place of showers, and no-pets-allowed establishments, and Sam—along with Dean—is about to lose his mind. The only way Sam can become human again is by earning it—and it's a long, tough road ahead.</p><p> </p><p>  <b><br/>    <i>(NOT puppy-play)</i><br/>  </b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sanshal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanshal/gifts).



> **Prompter** : livejournal user - sanshal  
>  **Community** : Submitted Directly  
>  **Prompt** : LINK
> 
>  **Kinks** : dehumanization/degradation, humiliation, praise, crying/tears, anal plug, hurt/comfort, light medical, enema _**[no puppy-play]**_
> 
>  **Warning** : None

Looking back on the whole debacle, Dean thought it was pretty stupid, really. Okay, so Sam had bit a police officer. It had been an honest mistake.

… Okay, so it hadn’t been a _mistake_ , but it _had_ been one of those spur-of-the-moment desperate moves that anyone could’ve made. 

… Okay, so maybe not _anyone_ would’ve bit a police officer. And okay, most people probably would have let go after the initial snap, after the skin broke and they realized what they had done. And okay, so Sam hadn’t done that. 

But could you really blame the guy? It had been bedlam! Dean and his brother had been minding their own business, on their way back from meeting up with Jo, Ash, and Ellen for lunch while their three old friends were in town. They had passed by the courthouse on the way, forced to slow by a veritable mob of protesters. Sam had figured out what was going on almost immediately—that was what made it a bit ironic, really, that it was his brother in the position he was in now, and not Dean. A bill had just passed that allowed a further step in the degrading process of dehumanization as punishments for criminals, and now “pets” who were deemed unfitting for “manumission”—the reinstatement of basic human rights and dignity—by their tenth year of attempted rehabilitation were to be euthanized, the law citing that they were simply out-of-control animals unfit for greater society. 

And yeah, that was horrific—Dean understood that. He still wished Sam had just stayed in the damned car until he had found his way out of the mob that was flooding the streets. And really, Sam might have, if it hadn’t been for the police. They initiated riot control measures; tear gas and rubber bullets and handcuffs all around. That was when Sam got pissed. That was just the sort of guy Sammy was. The crowd wasn’t dangerous or rioting. At most they were an annoyance blocking the streets. But they still had a right to be there. So Sammy had gotten out of the damned car. 

Dean had cursed and followed him, and that was when he saw Sam freeze, saw his brother start to shake with anger as he looked down at the unconscious form of a girl, her head bleeding, a police officer with a baton standing over her. And Dean had stepped forward, reached out to pull his brother back, but it had been too late. 

Sam and the police officer got into an all-out brawl, the baton laying forgotten a few feet away. It had ended with the officer holding Sam in a headlock, and that was when Dean saw Sam do the unthinkable—he had opened his mouth and sunk his teeth into the officer’s arm, refusing to let go until Dean and a second officer managed to pull him off. 

So yeah, Sammy had bit a cop. And yeah, it hadn’t been an accident, and it hadn’t exactly been “normal human behavior”. 

That didn’t make it any easier to swallow when the judge had announced that she had reached a decision; that Sam would be made into a hound, since he insisted on acting like a dog, until such time as he earned back the right to be treated as a human. 

Dean had been so angry that he had stood up. “I object!” His voice rang out, clean and clear through the courtroom. 

“You can’t object, Mr. Winchester; you are a character witness, not an attorney.” The judge sounded bored. 

“Well, then he objects!” Dean corrected, nodding at Sam’s court-appointed lawyer. 

The judge raised her eyebrows. “On what grounds?” 

“I…” The blond attorney, a man named Tyson Brady who Dean had already decided was useless, looked like he was at a loss. “I have no grounds for objections, your honor.” 

“Then what good are you?” Dean snapped. 

“Mr. Winchester, if you do not sit down and act in a civilized manner in my courtroom, you may find yourself next in line for such punishment.” The judge looked pointedly at Dean, daring him to call her bluff, and for a moment he considered it. His pride got the better of him, though, and after a few seconds he sat down, his jaw clenched tight. 

“Who will be claiming custody of the defendant?” The judge looked expectantly at Dean. 

“He’s an adult.” Dean was at a loss as to what the question could mean. 

The judge sighed, looking for all the world as though Dean were the most dense person she had ever met in her life. “He is a _hound_ , Mr. Winchester. He is a pet and he needs someone to claim ownership of him. Now will that be you, or will he be going to the pound for adoption?” 

_The Pound_ was where unclaimed “pets” were kept in cages until someone “adopted” them. But as for the quality of owners, there were no guarantees, no screening processes. If Dean sent Sam there, he could be adopted by someone truly awful—awful in any number of ways. 

“I claim ownership.” The words left his mouth quickly, as though they were afraid they would arrive too late. 

“Do you understand that you are responsible for his conduct and rehabilitation, and that you will share in any further judgements upon him until such time as he has earned manumission?” 

Dean swallowed hard. “I do.” 

“Let it be noted that Mr. Dean Winchester has claimed ownership over the defendant until such time as manumission is earned, to be assessed at monthly appointments with a court-appointed behavior and rehabilitation expert.” The judge rapped her gavel on the desk sharply. “Court is adjourned.” 

As the courtroom filed out, Dean was beckoned forward by the cross-looking bailiff. He followed him and Sam out a side door to the room where the court-appointed transition from man to beast would take place in. 

He didn’t know it was the last time he would see Sammy walk upright for a very long time. 

** ~~~ **

Sam looked around the room, taking in the sharp, sterile scent and gleaming white-and-steel surfaces. It reminded him of a doctor’s office, out of place in the courthouse. It was bright, far too bright for the torture chamber that it really was; a room specifically designed to break him down and strip him of all human dignity. 

“I’ll just wait out here.” Dean looked uncomfortable, gesturing to the hallway, and Sam nearly sighed in relief. If this was going to happen, at least his brother wasn’t going to witness it—or at least not until the final result; not the long process of the transformation. 

The veterinary aid who was employed by the courts to oversee the process smiled. “Oh, no sir. I’m sorry, but law requires the owner to be present to ensure that no animal is abused at the hands of the courts.” 

“You call him an animal again, and there’s going to be some abuse taking place in this room, alright.” Dean glared at her and Sam shook his head, trying to get him to just stop. There was no use in them both being in Sam’s position. Dean scowled and leaned against the wall by the door, crossing his arms over his chest and staring hard at the opposite wall. 

“Would you like to select his tail?” The aid asked with a smile as she pulled on a pair of latex gloves. 

“Would I like to what?” Dean blinked at her, his eyes widening in horror as the meaning of the question hit him. “No! Are you crazy?” 

“Okie dokie then.” The aid’s voice was syrupy sweet, and it occurred to Sam that she probably spent all day getting snapped at by upset relatives and angry new “pets”—many of whom had done much worse than him. He felt kind of bad for her. Or, he did until she opened a cabinet and removed a tail—a thick anal plug with an attached length of fur. The one that she selected at random was made with especially long and thick golden fur. “Golden retriever.” The aid’s smile grew even brighter. Sam wanted to smack her. 

She placed the plug into a metal container, the tail draping over the edge. “Sanitizer.” She explained. “Don’t worry, it’s all very hygienic.” 

Sam scoffed. Yeah. Because _that_ was what he was worried about. 

“Hmm. You _do_ have a bit of an attitude, don’t you?” The aid shook her head. “Anyway, while that’s soaking, let’s go ahead and get you collared and chipped.” She looked at Sam expectantly. 

“Chipped?” Dean broke in, sounding horrified. “You’re going to _track_ him?” 

“Oh, yes sir.” The aid nodded. “We keep a very close eye on all court-assigned pets. Strays are not permitted—we need to know where he is at all times. He’s a flight risk.” Her eyes turned back to Sam. “Go ahead and strip. The chip will be implanted in your flank and of course you’re not permitted to wear clothes anymore.” 

Sam didn’t move to take off his clothes. His fingers curled into the worn denim of his jeans like a child grasping their security blanket. He shook his head. 

“If you do not wish to comply, I am required by law to tranquilize you.” 

It occurred to Sam that the aid didn’t have to speak to him the way that she was. Pets were generally addressed like…well, like animals. Short, simple commands or praise. Full sentences, warnings, explanations…those were all things that were reserved for humans. She was offering his last bit of dignity as a human. Sam didn’t want to lose that; wanted to hold onto that as long as he could. If she tranquilized him, that would be over, and all of the rest would happen whether he cooperated or not. 

He swallowed hard, shaking hands moving to unbutton his overshirt and pull it off, followed closely by his tee shirt. The room was cold, and he felt goosebumps raise along his arms and shoulders, hands shaking as they moved to unbutton his jeans. The aid didn’t watch, afforded him that slight, slight illusion of privacy as she rummaged through a drawer, and when Sam looked at Dean his brother’s eyes were fixed steadily on the floor. 

He took a deep breath and pushed down his pants and boxer briefs in one quick motion, kicking away the puddle of denim and cotton as he tried to cover himself with his hands. His face and chest burned hot with shame and he hung his head, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to imagine that he was anywhere else, not naked in front of his brother and this stranger, about to be made into a hound for what could very well be the rest of his life. 

He heard a sharp, rhythmic tapping and he opened his eyes, his gaze falling on the aid as she slapped the metal exam table lightly. 

“Up.” The command was short and it hit Sam right in the gut. That was it. It was over now. He lifted himself up and sat on the table, the cold metal a shock to his shame-heated skin. The aid shook her head. “Hands and knees.” 

“C’mon.” This time the voice that spoke was Dean’s, and Sam was almost ashamed to realize that it was a plea. He had made his proud, strong older brother plead for him. “He doesn’t have to do that yet. You can chip and collar him sitting.” 

“Sorry, sir. Pets aren’t permitted to sit like that.” She looked at Sam expectantly even as she addressed Dean, her eyes hard as though she were challenging Sam. “ _Sit_.” 

Sam turned slowly, his gut wrenching as he rolled onto his hands and knees, his mind screaming at how exposed the position left him—ass jutted out, limp cock hanging between his legs. He let his head fall forward as his face burned, trying to imagine that he was anywhere else. Anywhere other than on display on that table, naked and humiliated, as the aid muttered quick praise for his obedience. 

He heard the sterile wrapper of a needle and syringe being pulled apart, and then a moment later there was a light pinching sensation in his upper thigh as local anesthesia was pushed into the flesh, the aid’s hands smoothing over the injection spot for a moment, that quick muttered praise coming again as he held still. She then rolled a tray over to the table, within Sam’s sight but not his reach, which had a scalpel, the sterile-wrapped subdermal chip, and a suture kit. She picked up the scalpel and Sam heard the sharp intake of breath from Dean, knew that his skin had been split before she even put the now-bloody instrument back down. She picked up the chip, the crinkle of the package being opened reaching Sam’s ears, and then there was a small point of dull pressure in his thigh. Another few seconds and he felt the rhythmic push-and-tug of stitches being placed—three, if he was right in his counting—and then she was wheeling the tray away again. 

He raised his head, craning around to look at the spot where she had embedded the chip. The incision looked clean and the stitches were neat. It would heal well, sealing that little electronic device under his skin—maybe forever—so that the courts could track him, make sure he wasn’t cheating, acting independent, human. The aid swiped antiseptic gel over it and then taped a thick layer of gauze over it. She handed a packet to Dean. 

“Pain killers,” she explained as he looked at the packet. “You’ll have to mix one of the smaller packets of powder in with his food each morning and night—just for the next two or three days. There’s also an antibiotic in with them.” 

“Great.” Dean grunted, pocketing the packet. “Very caring of you.” 

“Look.” The aid’s obnoxiously-cheerful demeanor was gone. “I didn’t put him in this situation. I’m doing my job, and trying to make the transition as smooth as possible. _Don’t get an attitude with me._ ” 

Dean rolled his eyes but stayed quiet. 

The collar was next; a thick, unyielding strap of black leather that chafed at Sam’s skin. He wanted to reach up, to pull it off, but he didn’t. He balled his hands up on the table, straining his neck against the collar, trying to work it into a more comfortable position. The attempt was in vain; there was no such thing. 

“Okay then, here comes the unpleasant part.” The aid said. Sam raised his head to see her removing the plug from the sanitizing solution. She shook it, sending the excess liquid dripping back into the container in a quick series of droplets. “Have you ever worn a plug before?” 

Before Sam could stop it, his eyes flickered to Dean. He moved them back to the aid quickly, caught her surprised expression. “Yes.” The answer was quiet, mumbled as his cheeks flamed. 

The aid cleared her throat nervously. “You two understand that continuing a sexual relationship following transition is tantamount to bestiality and is punishable as such by law?” 

Sam got the distinct impression that she had given that warning quite a few times, but it did little to calm the humiliation that raced through him. 

“Don’t worry; no chance of that.” Dean’s voice was quiet, the faint edge of disgust that was laced through it stabbing Sam though the heart. He should’ve known, should’ve figured that his brother wouldn’t want anything to do with him now. It had been hard enough to get Dean past the taboo of them as brothers in a relationship—there was no way Dean would get past bestiality. 

The aid was quiet as she grabbed a bottle of lubricant off of the counter and came to stand behind Sam. “Okay, so then you know how this works. I’m going to prep you a bit, but it will likely still hurt.” 

Sam had known that, had seen the plug. The largest plug that he and Dean had used had been maybe three inches at its widest part, and that one had taken a lot of coaxing and prep for Sam to wear comfortably. The plug that the aid was going to work into him was easily an inch wider—Sam presumed the thickness was to compensate for the weight of the tail. 

He heard the cap on the bottle of lube pop open and the aid squeeze some out onto her gloved fingers, the air escaping the bottle making an obscene sound. And then one latex-covered slick finger was pushing into him, and Sam felt his throat swell with shame, knowing he was opening for this stranger, knowing that Dean was watching someone else touch him, prep him, disgusted by the act and by what it represented, by Sam himself. 

He wanted to cry, wanted to scream out and jerk away from the rough, impersonal fingers invading him one by one. He clenched his teeth, screaming inside for it to be over, for it to end. 

And then it did, and it hit Sam that the worst part was still coming as the aid pressed the blunt tip of the plug to his rim and began to push. Sam was quickly stretched to his limit, the quick and impersonal preparation not enough to allow him to easily accept the thick, unyielding plug into his body. He whimpered against the pain, against the stretched, too-full feeling, trying to force himself to breathe without sobbing. 

It seemed to take forever, the plug getting increasingly wider. Sam felt like it was never going to be over, never going to start getting smaller again. The dull, throbbing pain quickly became sharp and burning. He was going to tear, he just knew it. He jumped, a sob escaping his throat as he felt a soothing hand in his hair. 

When he looked up, tears distorting his vision and a low whimper escaping his throat, it was Dean who was petting him, his expression hard and impersonal. “It’s okay, Sam. You’re going to be okay.” 

The words didn’t help, not spoken in that voice laced with disgust and horror. Sam focused instead on the hand in his hair, trying to ignore the pain and relax into the touch. It almost worked, almost; until the widest part of the plug slipped past his rim and he felt his muscles contract, tightening around the slick decreasing lower half and pulling it quickly deep into his body—too deep, too fast. A scream was torn from his throat, tears finally falling to splash against the metal table. He could feel the thick fur of the tail against his ass and the back of his thighs, humiliation surging through him anew at the image of what it must look like. 

He wanted Dean to hold him, to kiss him and comfort him and tell him that it was over, that it would be okay, that it didn’t matter, cause he was still Sammy, still his brother, still his other half. 

Dean didn’t. Sam knew he wouldn’t. 

Sam was disgusting. Sam was less than human.


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the _one_ instance of elimination kink I will probably ever write. It involves the use of an enema in medical context. It is coincidental that the enema use is the treatment for the issue presented, and I would like to remind future prompters not to request elimination kink. Thank you.

There were a lot of rules to properly rehabilitating a hound, according to the courts. They were all typed out, neat and tidy, in the information pamphlet that the veterinary aid had given Dean once he had Sam’s leash in his hand as they prepared to leave. He was trying to ignore Sam as he looked through it—well, not ignore him, really…more try to spare the kid from being stared at. Because when Sam had moved, when he had gotten off of the exam table and shifted to get on his knees on the floor, the plug had shifted inside of him, pressing against his prostate. The tears of shame had fallen harder as he grew hard despite his best attempts to stop it, a strangled sob escaping his throat.

But anyway, there were a lot of rules, Dean realized as he read down the list. 

Not one of them looked good for Sam. 

The first month was a nightmare as they navigated their way through the rules of Owner and Pet. 

** ~~~ **

_Any time that a Pet is in public, they must be on a leash and under the full control and command of their Owners. Pets are not permitted to walk upright. Freedom of movement is a human privilege._

Sam didn’t like to go out much. He had crawled obediently to the Impala after they left the courthouse, the pavement hurting his knees and palms, scraping the skin raw as his body flamed with humiliation. After that, he preferred to stay home, safe in the house or in the far less public backyard—not that it was much of a sanctuary. The neighbors could still see him, could still stare over the fence as they wondered what he had done to warrant such a punishment. 

Dean didn’t push too much for Sam to go out with him when he left, allowing Sam to stay at home. When he did, he had to be on a lead in the yard, a long chain attached to a spike in the ground limiting his movement to a twenty-foot radius. 

But when Dean was going to be gone for long periods of time, he insisted that Sam go with him. He was worried that leaving Sam unattended too long would be viewed as negligent of his rehabilitation, so on longer trips he clipped the leash to Sam’s collar and walked as slowly as he thought he could without appearing to be making special allowances for his brother, trying to be as easy on his knees and hands as he could be. When Sam slowed, or if Sam refused to move for a minute, Dean’s chest tightened as he commanded him to heel, trying to keep his voice stern and steady. 

He didn’t like to command Sam; didn’t like to treat Sam like an animal. But he kept reminding himself that if he didn’t play along, if he didn’t hold up his end as Owner, that he would end up in the same position as Sam, and that they would both likely find themselves in a world of trouble when they were adopted out at random from the Pound, likely separately. 

And if he didn’t do his part to convince the courts that Sam was properly rehabilitated, and he wasn’t granted manumission by the end of ten years, he would have to surrender his brother to be put down. And ten years seemed like a long time, but the scary thing was that according to the statistics listed on the back of the pamphlet, less than five percent of Pets were granted manumission. 

“How can that possibly be right?” Sam had asked on the way back to the Impala the day of his sentencing. “How can they keep this system in place when it’s producing no results.” 

Dean had panicked, had smacked his flank and commanded him not to talk before hurrying to the car, Sam struggling to keep up as the leash jerked. 

** ~~~ **

_Pets may speak only when spoken to in the privacy of their home. Pets may only answer direct questions; they may not issue commands. In public, Pets are to limit the use of language to emergency-only situations, and in such situations they may speak only to alert their Owner to the situation. Communication and interpersonal relationships and the dynamics involved in such are human privileges._

It was one of those rules that Dean bent a little for Sam. In their home, he let Sam speak freely. But Sam didn’t have much to say to him after the harsh command to shut up when he had questioned the effectiveness of his punishment. They spent long hours in the house, not talking to each other, watching TV as Dean stretched out on the couch and Sam knelt on the floor. Every now and then Dean would sort of pet him, the care he felt for his brother urging him to comfort him. 

Sam would pull away most of the time, disgusted by the pity his brother was showing him, sure that Dean must be forcing himself to touch him after all that he had seen. 

They didn’t talk about it, and they both hurt. 

** ~~~ **

_In the home, Pets are to be fed from their own designated bowl, which is to be placed on the floor. Pets are not permitted to use their hands or utensils to eat. Eating with humans and with concern of dignity is a human privilege._

Three times a day, Dean made meals and scooped half of them into a dog bowl. He set his own plate on the table and then bent over to put the bowl down in front of Sam. At first he had tried to make things that Sam liked, tried to use the lack of rules regarding a specific diet to do what he could for his brother. After the first disastrous attempt of Sam’s to try to eat a salad hands-free, however, he had started going for foods that were easier to eat in such a manner. That meant mostly meat, fruit, and raw vegetables. 

Sam wouldn’t eat from the bowl at first, embarrassment eating away at him as he imagined what he would look like, his face pressed into the bowl and food smearing over his mouth and nose. He and Dean had gotten into a full-out fight over it. 

Eventually the hunger wore out, and Sam ate everything in the bowl, humiliation coloring his skin red as he tried to make as little of a mess as he could. By the end of it he had been a complete mess, Italian dressing and bits of lettuce stuck to his face. Dean had cleaned him up patiently as tears burned at Sam’s eyes. 

“Why can’t I even have a fucking napkin?” he grumbled. 

Dean sighed. “It’s against the rules, Sammy.” He made one last gentle pass over the mess on Sam’s cheek and then ruffled his hair the way he had when they were younger. “Just be patient, okay? We get this right, and it’ll be over before you know it.” 

Sam really hoped that Dean was right. 

** ~~~ **

_Pets are permitted in establishments that have chosen to allow their admittance. However, they are **not** permitted to be seated as a human. They must remain on the floor and at their Owner’s feet. If the establishment serves food, they may only eat what their Owner offers them from their own plate. Pets are not permitted to partake in their own meals in this situation. Dining out is a human privilege._

They only ate out once, when Dean had to be out of the house all day and they couldn’t go home for dinner and the hunger finally won out. It had taken forever to even find a restaurant that would allow Sam inside, and he had sat as close to Dean’s legs as he could, trying to hide under the table. Everyone was staring at him, surely wondering what he had done, eyeing his naked form as he huddled over himself, trying to hide his genitals. He didn’t like public places, didn’t like people looking at him. Walking on the leash was one thing—he could at least focus on his movement, on not scraping up his hands and knees too bad, ignore the stares and whispers and—occasionally, horrifically—the lecherous grins of shadier men and women. 

Dean had ordered a steak and a baked potato before he thought better of it and asked the waitress for fries instead. He had picked up small pieces, his hand moving under the table for Sam to take them in his teeth from between his brother’s fingers, his face burning with embarrassment but too hungry to resist. 

It had torn Dean up to see the way people stared at Sam, the way they laughed. He wanted to pull his brother up, let him sit in a chair and push his plate across to his brother, let him eat like a person while he beat the shit out of anyone who dared to say anything. 

“It’ll be over before we know it, Sammy.” The mumbled reassurance was more to comfort himself this time. It did nothing to quell the humiliation that constantly raged through Sam. 

** ~~~ **

_Pets are to remain on the floor. They are not permitted to sleep, rest, or socialize on furniture. They may make use of dog beds or animal-designated shelters as their owners see fit. Comfort is a human privilege._

The only other time that Dean broke any of the rules was when he would let Sam curl up at the end of his bed to sleep. There was a dog bed on the floor beside the king-size bed, but the first night Dean had stayed awake, watching Sammy shiver and toss in his sleep, his heart breaking for his brother. He couldn’t let Sam actually sleep with him, couldn’t let him slide under the covers for Dean to hold him and comfort him the way he would even when they were younger, even before they were lovers. Couldn’t risk it in case there was a surprise inspection by Sam’s court-appointed behavior and rehabilitation expert. Especially with Sam’s slip-up with the veterinary aid, now that their relationship before the transition was likely on record. 

But he let Sam curl up on the end of the bed, covered him gently with a blanket to keep his naked body warm. 

Neither of them slept very well, anyway. 

** ~~~ **

_Pets are not permitted to use showers or bathtubs. Bathing will be performed by their Owner outdoors. Independence and discretion in issues of personal hygiene is a human privilege._

By the third day, Sam reeked. They had been avoiding this particular brand of humiliation, putting it off as a task that wasn’t necessary daily. But eventually Dean had accepted that it needed to be done and ordered Sam into the backyard. He hosed him down, trying to ignore the startled cries of discomfort that the cold water brought from his younger brother, the sharp sting of the water pressure turning his skin bright red. 

He lathered up his brother’s hair, his body, washing every inch quickly and efficiently, trying not to let his hands linger as Sam tried to jerk away. He even cleaned the tail, figuring that the thick, fluffy fur probably held a lot of odor, careful not to tug on or jostle the plug. 

Finally, he rinsed Sam off and then dried him quickly with a towel before opening the screen door to let his brother crawl quickly into the safety of the house. 

Before Dean went inside himself he flipped off the neighbors who had gathered on their back deck to watch. 

** ~~~ **

_Pets are not allowed to use facilities designated solely for human use, such as bathrooms and showers. A Pet is expected to void their bladder and bowels outside. This is the only time that their tail is permitted to be removed, and it must be replaced immediately after. Privacy and discretion regarding toilet habits is a human privilege._

This rule proved to be the biggest problem for the brothers. 

Sam didn’t have a problem with pissing outside. He had been raised camping and hunting, and being a guy it was relatively simple. The fact that he couldn’t stand made it awkward, and he actually did have to raise his leg to manage to pee far enough away that he wouldn’t end up putting his hand or knee down in it when he moved away, but it was still the same general principle. Besides, he was naked at all times. It wasn’t like there was the awkward moment where he had to whip it out and risk horrifying anyone who could see him. 

The problem came with the idea of shitting outdoors. 

Sam was stubborn, and though his pride had taken a hard hit with the ruling and the subsequent insertion of his tail and systematic stripping of his dignity, he still had enough to make it absolutely out of the question for him to void his bowels outdoors, where anyone could see. 

It wasn’t even just the actual act of squatting out in the open and shitting in front of someone, although that idea was horrifying enough. The bigger issue, though, was the removal of the plug and the reinsertion of it. He couldn’t bring himself to do that, to work the wide plug loose, exposing his gaping hole to the world before he could defecate. And he definitely couldn’t imagine having to work it back in, to slide it back inside of him as his rim clutched at it, disappearing inside of his body to the base. 

Within four days he was in more pain than he had ever imagined possible. He routinely had to double over as his intestines threatened to rip themselves apart. He began to think that he might shit anyway, unable to stop it, pushing out the plug and all, regardless of where he was or what he was doing. He stopped eating, but that barely helped. 

It wasn’t long after that that Dean noticed as he walked through the yard that there was nothing for him to do with the pooper scooper. “Sam…haven’t you…” 

Sam glowered, hunched over in the grass, his arms circled around his stomach as he rode out the sharp, stabbing pains. He tried to give no outward sign of his discomfort. 

Dean looked around as though expecting to suddenly find Sam’s top-secret shitpile. “I don’t get it, man, have you been using the toilet? You know if you’re caught doing that we’re both in trouble.” 

That had been Dean’s reasoning as he enforced all the rules, and Sam was getting pretty sick of it. He understood it—he definitely didn’t want his brother to be in his position. Especially because, with their lack of family, it would likely end with them both in the Pound. But it still really, really sucked that his brother was unwilling to break the rules, even in their own house. 

It finally hit Dean, after asking Sam questions that went unanswered for the better part of an hour. “Dude, you _seriously_ haven’t shit in nearly a week?” His eyes were wide in shock as Sam glared up at him. “Why not?” 

“I’m sorry, would _you_ like to remove a fucking plug, shit where anyone can see, and then shove it back up in you?” Sam snapped. 

Dean cast his gaze around, checking that none of their neighbors were out. “Okay, Sammy. I got it. Look, would it help if I took it out and then put it back?” 

“Why on earth would that _help??_ ” Sam was ready to cry in anger and frustration. 

Dean looked panicked at the fact that Sam was talking so loudly. “Okay, okay. Calm down.” He took a deep breath, appearing to be thinking hard. “I don’t know, Sammy, but you’re gonna have to shit, you know? You look like you’re in pain.” 

“Of course I’m in pain!” 

“Would you calm down?” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’ll keep a lookout, alright? And you…do your thing.” 

Sam still didn’t want to; still wanted to stubbornly refuse. But Dean was right. He was going to have to do it eventually, and the stabbing pain in his gut was getting to be too much. He nodded sullenly, and Dean turned away, scanning between the backyards on either side of theirs. 

It took Sam awhile to work the plug free. His rim had tightened around the slim base, and removing it was nearly as painful as its placement had been the first time. He finally got it out, a sob of relief escaping his throat, and started to bear down, hoping to get the whole humiliating process over with quickly. 

After a minute he started to panic. He definitely had to go; he could feel the pressure in his abdomen, could feel the muscles contracting as he tried to go. He pushed so hard that he thought he was going to have a coronary. The more time that went by, the more the fear built. 

“Dean…” He gasped a breath, trying to stay calm, to keep the waver of fear and pain out of his voice. “It won’t come out.” 

“What, the plug?” Dean turned, his eyes widening when he saw Sam, the plug in hand as he squatted, face red and contorted in pain. “Oh _shit_.” 

** ~~~ **

_Pets do not have the right to seek out medical care or to reject medical care. Veterinarians will be visited as their Owner deems appropriate, and the Owner will decide upon appropriate courses of action in such context. All medical care must be performed with the Owner present. Privacy, discretion, and personal agency in medical course is a human privilege._

“Dr. Masters? Really, Dean?” Sam gaped at his brother when he was informed who Dean had decided they would go see about Sam’s…bowel issue. 

“She was very gentle with our cat when we were kids.” Dean shrugged. He hadn’t known who else to call. It wasn’t like they had a vet on speed dial. They hadn’t actually had a pet since they were kids, and Sam wasn’t allowed to see their GP anymore. 

Sam tried to gauge whether his brother was joking or not. “She put Mittens down!” 

“Okay, yeah, but _gently_. Out of mercy!” 

“I don’t think that’s a great indicator of her prowess in actually treating problems, Dean! I’m trying to avoid euthanasia here!” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, you better bitch it out now because we gotta leave in an hour and you know you’re not allowed to do it once we leave the house.” 

Sam didn’t speak to him again before it was time to leave. 

Dr. Meg Masters was a short, brunette woman with a wry smile and a voice dripping with irony, regardless of whether she was speaking ironically or not. It made her a hard person to read, and so Dean spent most of his time in the corner of the exam room just trying to figure her out. 

She ran her hands over Sam’s abdomen, one palm pressed against his lower back as the other prodded at his lower stomach, a tight frown on her face. She worked the plug loose and slipped two gloved fingers inside of him, a look of concentration furrowing her brow as she felt around. 

“Yup,” she muttered, withdrawing her hand and shucking off the gloves. “He’s full of shit, alright.” 

Dean frowned. “Yeah, we knew that. The problem is, he can’t go.” 

“Oh yeah, I figure he can’t. He’s pretty impacted. Acquired megacolon.” She turned her back to them, scrubbing her hands, and then pulled on another pair of gloves. “It’s a fancy term meaning that he’s held it too long and the water in his colon has been completely absorbed and bonded with the fecal matter, so it’s essentially a rock. It’s treatable, and he’ll be fine, but it won’t be pleasant.” 

“Shocker,” Sam scoffed. 

“Hush, you.” Dr. Masters said, swatting his thigh. “Anyway, I’m going to have to administer warm-water enemas with a water-soluble jelly. That’ll soften everything up. But to actually get him cleared and moving again, I’ll have to manually break up and extract the blockage; his colon isn’t going to be able to expel it naturally.” 

“You mean…” Dean’s eyes darted from her gloved hands to Sam’s ass. 

The vet smirked. “Unfortunately, yes. Trust me, it’s no picnic for me, either. But for some reason recently-transitioned Pets always do this.” She looked at him expectantly. “Just need your go-ahead.” 

Sam’s stomach sank as he heard Dean give the vet permission. He didn’t want any of what she had just described to be carried out in front of Dean. He had used enemas before, discretely, especially when he had been coaxing Dean through his discomfort with the taboo of their relationship. There was nothing attractive or suitable for the spectator’s eyes about the whole process, and he absolutely did not want Dean to witness it. Just the thought made his throat swell with humiliation and shame. 

He should’ve just swallowed his pride and shit in the yard. Why not? Everything else had been taken from him, every last bit of his dignity. 

“Please,” he choked out, taking a chance with speaking. If ever there was an emergency situation, this was it, in his opinion. “Please, don’t do this in front of him. Let him wait outside. Please.” Tears burned his eyes and his voice broke as he pleaded. 

Dr. Masters actually looked a little sorry. Sam figured that she must have some sort of soft spot for animals, if this was the sort of shit—no pun intended—she went through in her chosen profession. “Sorry, sport. By law, he had to be here.” 

Sam didn’t understand why. Animals were dropped off at the vet for medical procedures all the time and picked up later. He was sure this was another rule that was designed to break him, to humiliate and shame him. And it worked. He couldn’t imagine anything humiliating him as much as this would. 

He whimpered, pressing his forehead against the cold metal of the exam table as he listened to the woman gather up the supplies she needed. He wanted to apologize to Dean, to say something that would make what he was about to witness less horrifying, less disgusting. Sam was pretty sure that after this, even if he eventually earned manumission, that Dean would never be able to look at him the same. 

Dr. Masters placed an IV in his arm, explaining to Dean that it was an electrolyte drip, as the procedure had potential to dehydrate him, and if it was too severe it could cause heart failure. She explained this to Dean, not Sam. Sam was an animal and had no say, no right to his medical treatment. Medical professionals would explain nothing to him that they wouldn’t explain to a real dog. 

Sam managed to hold it together until he felt the sterile tubing being pushed past his rim, the process eased by how much the plug had opened him. At the first rush of warm, slick water, he broke, his chest heaving with gasping sobs as the warmth spread through him, flooding his colon and filling him to bursting. He could feel excess water leaking out of him, running down his leg to pool on the exam table. 

“He’s doing fine.” Dr. Master’s voice was quiet as she addressed Dean. Sam wanted to scream, wanted to call her a liar, wanted to tell her that he was _not_ fine; that he was probably never going to be fine again. He wanted to apologize to Dean. 

He couldn’t force the words out, could barely breathe as the sobs wracked his chest and shoulders. He felt Dr. Masters moving behind him, flipping a switch on a small machine, and then the water was drawn back out with an obscene suction sound. The saturation of the back-up increased the urge to go, and Sam tried to resist it, despite the knowledge that he wouldn’t be able to anyway. He was imagining shitting himself right then and there, the blockage suddenly dislodged, and the imagined embarrassment alone was enough to make him cry harder. 

He wanted to curl in on himself, make himself as small as possible, hide from sight. He thought that the aid inserting the plug had been humiliating, or the resulting erection, but that was nothing. He would go through that a hundred times before he would have signed up for this. 

Dr. Masters withdrew the tubing and pressed her fingers into him again, feeling the obstruction, prodding gently. The fingers withdrew and the tube was reinserted. Sam braced himself as the second rush of water flooded forward. 

He remembered, the first time that he had used an enema himself, the water had been too warm. Slightly above body temperature. It wasn’t enough to cause any damage, but as the heat rushed through his nerves, washed over his prostate, he had quickly and violently reached orgasm. 

He prayed that wouldn’t happen now. Prayed he wouldn’t even get hard. He wasn’t sure if he could take that in addition to what he was already dealing with. 

The suctioning sound began again, and the excess water was once more drained. Dr. Masters checked the obstruction once more and Sam held his breath, praying that whatever she was checking for would be enough, that she wouldn’t have to flood him again. The need to shit was getting increasingly stronger, almost impossible to ignore, pain lancing his gut as the blockage was unable to move but was now hydrated enough to _need to_. 

Apparently satisfied with what she found, Dr. Masters spoke to Dean again. “I’m going to use forceps to break apart the blockage. It’s not going to be pretty, but we’re almost done.” 

Sam repeated the last part to himself as he felt the cold, slick instrument slide into him, clasping and squeezing as it broke up the obstruction, occasionally withdrawing to deposit part of it in a biohazard bin on the table. 

“Okay boy, pretty soon you’re going to feel able to go, and when you do I want you to tell—” 

Dr. Masters addressed him too late, and the sensation came on too suddenly. 

Right there, before he could stop it, before he could say anything or really process what was happening, Sam’s gut gave a violent twist and he was seized by the sudden need to push. Wet, loose stool and excess water surged out as Sam shit himself, the mess falling to the table as Dr. Masters moved quickly back, some of the thick, strong-smelling waste clinging to Sam’s thighs. 

He cried harder, in shame and humiliation and a twisted sort of relief and satisfaction. God help him, it felt _good_ to finally go, regardless of the circumstances, and that slight pleasure warred it out inside of him with the complete and total degradation that he was feeling. 

He was never going to be able to look Dean in the eye again. 

** ~~~ **

_Pets may not engage in sexual activity with humans. To do so is considered tantamount to bestiality and is punishable as such by law. This includes previously existing relationships, and previously existing relationships with their Owner, including between married couples. Marriages, civil partnerships, and any similar legal bonds are considered suspended pending manumission. There are no exceptions to this rule._

Though they both already knew of this rule, Sam had let out a broken laugh when Dean had read it out loud, snapping bitterly about how sure he was that the courts never had to worry about Dean ever touching him again, both because of how disgusted Dean must be with him, and how disgusted he was with himself. He never wanted to be touched again. 

Dean didn’t know how to explain that the dehumanization thing was a major turn-off, that he was absolutely, one hundred percent sure that he would never be able to get it up while Sam was forced to act like a dog, but that he didn’t _not_ want Sam. That once his brother was granted manumission, of course he would still want him. 

He missed Sam so much it hurt. 

He didn’t know how to say it. 

“It’ll be over before you know it, Sammy.” 

Sam had just snorted in disgust and rolled away from him, pulling the blanket at the end of the bed over his body as though to hide himself. 

** ~~~ **

_Pets are permitted to engage in masturbation. Special allowances for the preservation of their dignity or privacy are not to be made, however, and Owners are expected to intervene if such activity takes place in an inappropriate environment. Privacy and dignity regarding sexual acts are a human privilege._

When Dean had first read this rule he had sort of laughed. He couldn’t imagine Sam being _in the mood_ with everything that happened. But between the plug inside of him pressing against his prostate 24/7 and the steadily building frustration with the lack of contact between him and Dean, his brother was in a nearly-constant state of arousal by the end of the first month. 

Dean wasn’t allowed to knock before entering a room—Sam wasn’t allowed that kind of privacy or consideration. This meant that Dean walked in on his brother jerking off way more times than he was comfortable with. More than once he had gotten up to inspect a noise, worrying that Sam was sick or hurt, and walked into a room just as Sam was blowing his load. 

To make matters worse, Sam wasn’t allowed to bathe himself, wasn’t allowed clothes or things like napkins or towels. So that left only two options: let Sam walk around covered in his own cum, or clean him up. 

Sam hated himself for it, hated the detached look in his once-lover’s eyes as he cleaned him up after he climaxed, hated the disgusted look that flashed across his face when he walked in on it. 

“It’ll be over before I know it, right Dean?” His voice was bitter. 

** ~~~ **

There was no logic in the punishment, Sam decided. How was a person supposed to learn to function as a human by being treated as an animal? He felt more broken, more ready to snap, to lose his mind than he ever had before the transition. 

It was nonsensical. But all he could do was hold on, go through the motions and follow the rules, trust his big brother that it would be over soon. 

He wasn’t sure what would happen then, _if_ he was ever granted manumission. Wasn’t sure things could ever be the same. Knew beyond a doubt that _he_ could never be the same. 

But still, it had to be better than living like an animal. 

Or at least, he hoped so.


	3. Part Three

Sam and Dean lived as Pet and Owner for two long years. Eventually, no amount of “It'll be over before you know it, Sammy,” could offer any comfort. Two years was going to be five was going to be ten and then Sam would be ripped from Dean’s grasp and put down. Monthly appointments with Sam’s court-appointed behavior and rehabilitation expert came and went with no sign of progress.

The day that the letter arrived was like any other one that had come and gone so far. It was a bath day, and Dean was spending his morning checking every half hour or so to see if the neighbor’s van was gone, waiting for them to go out for a bit before he started to wash Sam. Sam himself was off somewhere, sleeping or trying to find a private spot to shit or jerking off, hell, Dean didn’t know. He had begun giving Sam his space, the strain of their dynamic wearing on them over the last two years. 

He noticed the postal truck down the street as he checked the neighbor’s driveway once more and waited on him to kill time, meeting him at the front door to take the mail before he could slide it through the slot. 

He flipped through the stack of envelops. Bill, bill, postcard from Jo, bill, a pink envelope that looked suspiciously like a jury-duty summons—haha no fucking way—bill…and a plain white envelope addressed to him and stamped with the Department of Corrections letterhead in the upper left corner. 

He forgot how to breathe as he dropped the rest of the mail, hurriedly tearing open the envelope and scanning the first line of neat typed print. His eyes widened, a weight seeming to leave his chest that had been there so long he didn’t even notice it anymore until suddenly it was gone. And then he was running through the house, yelling for Sam, tossing open every door he came to. 

He found Sam laying on the bed, curled up as he tried to nap. His brother raised his head, his face annoyed. 

“Sammy—Quick, stand up!” 

Sam huffed, annoyance flashing across his face. “Very funny, Dean. Have the neighbors left? Is it time for my bath?” 

Dean let out a triumphant whoop. “A fucking shower, Sammy! It’s time for a fucking _shower!_ ” He brandished the letter. “Dude, listen—“ he cleared his throat before beginning to read. “Dear Mr. Winchester, this letter is to inform you that pursuant with the latest report and recommendation from your Pet’s behavior and rehabilitation expert, we are terminating his sentence and granting him manumission. Our records indicate that your Pet is currently being homed without relocation. If this is the case _no further action is required on your part_.” Dean was practically jumping up and down as he waited for his words to land. “It’s over, Sammy!” 

Sam looked like he might pass out. “You’re joking.” 

Dean frowned. “I wouldn’t joke about this. These last couple of years have been…” He sighed as he shook his head, unable to think of a word strong enough to describe it. His face softened. “I’ve missed you, Sam.” ‘’ 

Sam sat up slowly, the look on his face suggesting that he could hardly believe it. A grin spread across his face as he reached out to cup Dean’s face, drawing it to his own and pressing their lips softly together, hesitantly. Dean pulled back almost immediately, regretting it as he saw the hurt flicker over his brother’s face. 

“No, Sam, it’s not like that.” He shook his head. “Just… Can we get rid of the tail and make you a bit more…human first?” 

The smile returned to Sam’s face as he nodded. “Yeah. I want a shower. And I want to go out to eat. I want to sit in a chair. I want to wear clothes.” He stood up, heading for the bathroom, walking upright for the first time in two years. Dean had almost forgotten how tall he was. He turned around and winked at Dean. “And then I want you to take them off of me.” He laughed as he disappeared into the bathroom, shouting through the closed door as he turned on the water in the shower. “And I want to sleep between the sheets. And I want spend tomorrow laying with you on the couch in our pajamas. And I want toss the goddamned food bowl out the window and cut the fucking collar and leash into tiny little pieces. And then I want to throw them on the neighbor’s lawn.” 

Dean laughed, falling back onto the bed as he listened to his brother recount all of the—simple, really—things that he wanted to do now that he was human again. He sat up in surprise as the bathroom door opened and the plug came sailing out, the tail trailing behind it almost majestically. 

“And I want to burn the fucking tail!” 

“Burned silicon, hair, and shit. That’s going to be _terrible_ , Sammy.” Dean laughed as Sam shrugged before shutting the bathroom door again. He considered going in there, joining Sam in the shower and making the best of the tail’s effect. But there was plenty of time for that, and Sam deserved to bathe on his own for once. 

** ~~~ **

They did all of the things that Sam listed. Well, all except for burning the tail. Dean had finally put his foot down on that one, truly terrified of how terrible the smell would be. He did, however, let his little brother toss it over the neighbor’s fence with the pieces of the collar and leash, as well as the dog bowl. Served them right for watching his brother be humiliated for two years like it was a spectator sport. 

When Sam got out of the shower he just stood in front of their closet for a minute, looking overwhelmed by the choices before pulling out a tee shirt and a pair of jeans, his fingers running over the soft-worn fabric gently, as though he couldn’t believe they were real. Dean had let him have his moment, not teasing him in the way that he normally would as Sam nearly broke down crying as he held the clothes and then slowly slipped them on. It broke Dean’s heart how such a simple thing had become so coveted, so sacred to his brother, and once Sam was dressed he beckoned him over to him, wrapping his arms around him and held him as he cried. 

He got the feeling Sam wasn’t really crying about the clothes, anyway, but from the sheer relief of what they represented—the end of two long years of humiliation and shame. 

He took Sam out to dinner, almost too distracted through the whole thing to eat as he watched Sam nearly vibrate with joy at getting to sit in a chair, eat off of a plate with silverware and a napkin. 

Sam had insisted that they walk, hurrying ahead and then hanging back, enjoying not being on a leash, enjoying the sounds of his shoes hitting the pavement. His knees were covered in scars from two years of the harsh pavement scraping them raw as he crawled. Dean tried to hold his hand, but maybe it was too much like the leash because both times that he tried it lasted for maybe two seconds before Sam was slipping his hand free, smiling at Dean as he drifted away, ahead, behind. Anywhere that would have, just that morning, earned him the command to heel. 

And through it all it hit Dean how much he had really, truly _missed_ Sammy; missed his brother, his lover. One day they would have to talk about what they had been through, all of the pain and humiliation and the loss. But tonight was for Sammy to enjoy, and for them to rediscover each other. 

When they finally made it back home, Dean followed Sam up the stairs, allowing his brother to lead him for once. And this time, when Sam rested his hands on either side of Dean’s face and kissed him softly, Dean returned it, breathing out again how much he’d missed him when they finally parted. 

They moved slowly, tasting each other and taking their time in undressing each other before they fell to the bed in a tangle of limbs and scorching skin. And then it became too much, too long, not enough, and their movements became frantic as they touched and tasted. 

And when Dean slid home, it was the only time he was ever grateful to that damned plug as Sammy opened for him easily, a low moan of pleasure falling from his little brother’s lips as Dean set a deep, steady rhythm. 

They didn’t last long. Neither of them cared. They were too desperate for each other, too in need of the other’s touch. They drank in the deep moans and lust-filled sighs as they hurtled towards completion, shattering together and then slowly piecing each other back together as they lay in the afterglow, wrapped in each other’s arms. 

Dean pressed his lips to Sam’s shoulder as his brother fell asleep, hands running through the younger man’s hair, and for the first time since the whole debacle began, he let his own tears fall, his very soul aching with how relieved he was to have his brother back. 

They’d have to talk about it one day. They’d have to rip open the scabs and scars and drain the infection so that they could heal. 

But tonight, it was just him and Sammy. Finally human. Finally his again. 

  
**The End.**   
_I hope you enjoyed it. :)_   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a prompt you'd like to submit? Click **[here](http://girlgotagun.livejournal.com/8537.html)** and leave a comment, and I'll see what I can do!


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